It s been a year
by BlueDream1
Summary: Kate visits Jack s grave...


**Title:** It´s been a year

**Pairing:** Jate

**Rating:** T

**Author´s note:** Today is **May 23****rd** – exactly a year since Lost ended *bawl*, so I decided to write a little fic. It was originally supposed to be a one-shot; but since I´ve been an emo mess today, I just don´t have the energy to finish it tonight, ´cause it requires a lot of strength to write about Jack being dead and Kate dealing with it, and since it´s already 2am here and I´ve participated in 2 rewatches of the finale tonight, I simply don´t have that strength anymore, so I´m gonna make it a two-shot.

Happy Endgame/ILYs day, Jaters! *hugs*

**It´s been a year**

˝Uhm, Kate, are you really sure you want to do this? ´Cause we can still go back if you... ˝

The look on her face makes Hurley stop right there. He knows that look too well. He loves his friend, but she knows to be so stubborn sometimes. The most stubborn person he knows. Except maybe Jack.

_Jack._ The memory of his friend makes Hurley´s heart ache. Even after all these months, the pain is still fresh. He still remembers it as if it was yesterday: Jack telling him he believed in him. Trusting him with what mattered the most. No one has ever believed in him that much.

He still visits his grave weekly. He comes on the beach, sits down on the little log he placed there and then talks. He talks about his and Ben´s adventures, about the island, about THE light and how it´s still there. He remembers all the good and bed times they passed on the island; the group of strangers that eventually became each others´ best friends. He gives him updates about the ones that left the island; the friends he saved by sacrificing himself. He never expects him to reply; to stop by to hang out like some of the others occasionally do. No. Jack isn´t that type. He knows that. He knows that when he died, that was it. But he still continues to talk to him, because he hopes that somewhere out there, wherever he is, Jack will hear.

_Maybe that´s why she is here too_.

Hurley looks at her and nods. ˝Right. Sorry. Remember, it´s straight down the...˝

˝I know. ˝Kate says. And she _does _know. She´s known right from that moment eleven months ago when Hurley told her that they´d found Jack clutching a note in his hand. A note with the place where he´d like to be buried.

_Buried_. She shrugs that thought – for a while – and turns to Hurley again, trying to give him an I´m-gonna-be-alright smile, but knowing she failed miserably; so she settles for a hug instead. ˝Thanks, Hurley. ˝She gives him a slight peck on the cheek; then pulls away. ˝We´ll...we´ll go on our own from here, okay? ˝

Hurley nodds. ˝´kay. And Kate...if you need me, just call, okay? ˝

She gives him another smile – this time a genuine one – and he holds out a hand, helping her step from the boat onto a small wooden deck that Ben and him built for an easier access. She gives him one last smile and he tries to return it, raising his hand in a goodbye sign as he watches them leave; wanting to be there for them, but knowing it´s something she has to do alone. Well, not _exactly_ alone, but still...

Kate steps onto the sand and closes her eyes, inhaling the salty scent of sun and ocean. It´s been a year since she had left this place and yet, everything seems so familiar. She can almost see them all again: Charlie singing _You All Everybody_ to Aaron and giggling Claire, Locke sharpening his knives, Shannon and Boone bickering about some silly thing none should bicker about. There´d be Sawyer, sitting in front of his tent and reading a book, Jin fishing and talking with Sun in Korean, Sayid trying to fix some mechanical thingie he´d found in the wreckage, Jack...

_Jack_. She opens her eyes and scans the beach. It´s empty. She feels her eyes sting. Despite them being all strangers, they made a home there. Built friendships. And now...Charlie is dead, Shannon and Boone also. Locke, Sun and Jin, Sayid...and Jack. Jack is gone too.

Kate shakes her head, wiping away one stubborn tear that escaped her eyes. _No. I won´t cry. Not yet. Not __here__._ She casts one last look at the abandoned beach; then, cradling the tiny bundle in her arms, makes her way through the path she knows so well...

She remembers stumbling through the same trees and roots five years ago, shocked and still not quite understanding what had just happened. Her head was pounding; the angry scratches on her cheeks were starting to burn and she could feel the tingling sensation on her wrists, where the handcuffs had been. And then – there was he. With a simple _Excuse me?_ and a standard black thread, he captured her heart.

Suddenly, she stops. There it is. Right at the place where she found _him_ five years ago, now standing is a wooden cross. A cry catches in her throat. She´s missed him every day, every hour, every second of the past year; but somehow being here, seeing that cross, makes the pain hundreds times worse. Makes his death seem more real. ´Cause back there, in LA, she can pretend it´s all not true. She can pretend he´s still somewhere out there, working abroad, or doing missionary work with _Doctors without Boarders_. Yeah, that´s her favorite denial theory. _Abroad with Doctors without Borders_. She doesn´t _really_ believe in it, but sometimes, when the pain becomes unbearable, it helps her to think that way. To go on with her life. Here, now... nothing helps. She can´t pretend he´s somewhere abroad, because the cross is there to remind her. Remind her that he´s not abroad, but there, below that cross, underneath the sand, months and worlds away from her.

She presses the bundle closer to her chest, next to her heart, seeking comfort in it. She closes her eyes, remembering his story; the story he told her right at this very place such a long time ago. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five_.

She opens her eyes and exhales. The pain is still there, but it´s bearable now, ´cause she can feel his spirit inside of her. Around _them_. She looks down at the precious cargo she´s carrying. He´s still sleeping; has been since they´d left the plane. His lips are slightly parted and his little chest rise and fall in the rhythm of his breathing. She watches the pattern for a few moments, feeling peace engulf her; that same kind of peace she always feels when looking at her son. _Their_ son. She bends her head a bit and presses her lips on the small head.

˝Come on, baby, let´s meet daddy. ˝

* * *

><p>Next: Kate ˝talking˝ to Jack.<p> 


End file.
